Non-Erotic PoetryWould he?I linger at his door
my alter of sacrifice
searching the knotted wood
for strength
knowing it could be cut to a cross
or stoked up beneath a flame
or maybe it would just stay wood
firm, warm, inviting, protecting
all in one
though the past slams are evident
cracks split up
and down separate ways
the division is clear-cut
but the door still stands
while I contemplate the knob
and finger the keyhole
poised to knock on wood
I consider offering myself
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